


and, thus, the cathedral had spoken (wishing well to all us sinners)

by Captain_Cap



Category: Marvel 2099, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Also: miguel o'hara's tragically heterosexual parents, Angst, Contemplative Long-Form Poetry Steeped In Metaphors And Stirred Twice, Death, I don't think the gore is too graphic but it IS there, I worked hard on this please read my angst poetry that criticizes capitalism :(, Miguel learns about terminal velocity in the worst possible way, Mild Gore, Mostly just descriptions of a body after hitting the pavement but like. not in a suicide way, Non-Canonical Character Death, ask to tag, he doesn't catch himself here, takes place right after miguel is mutated but before he actually becomes spider-man, u know. when he jumps out the building in horror but then catches himself before dying?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:34:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26626804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Cap/pseuds/Captain_Cap
Summary: There is not much leftWhen they scrape him off the pavement,Take his body away toStudy in their labs,This scientific monstrosityWith fangs and claws,With eye-shine and spinnerets,And a battered body bathedIn copper-stinking red.(Title fromHuman of the Yearby Regina Spektor!)
Kudos: 4





	and, thus, the cathedral had spoken (wishing well to all us sinners)

There is not much left  
When they scrape him off the pavement,  
Take his body away to  
Study in their labs,  
This scientific monstrosity

With fangs and claws,   
With eye-shine and spinnerets,   
And a battered body bathed  
In copper-stinking red.

Nueva York’s working class looks on with awe   
Until the Public Eye bustles them along;

For though bloodied bodies are not rare to find on the city streets,   
‘Neath the gnawing teeth of glass sky-scrapers,  
What remains of this man was once beautiful—   
This they can tell,   
Even through the fearful death mask  
Twisting his face.

Hair that once curled coyly by his ears  
Is turned now matted, in sticky wet clumps   
Against a cracked-egg skull,  
Red-brown-black dyeing the pavement  
By the Alchemax Tower.

His lip is split twice over  
From teeth he had not grown used to, yet;  
Jaw hanging open, afraid,  
And black crusting his mouth.

It is a wolf’s maw split in a shriek,  
Dried-out tongue ‘tween side teeth glinting in the light   
Fangs long as a man’s hand

_He could look human, at first glance,  
_ They say with passing fancy.

But his limbs are splayed like roadkill,  
Like he suffered,  
Choking on air whipping by too fast   
For him to breathe  
Screaming as he dropped like a stone.

His eyes are glassy, as the dead’s eyes should be,  
But they are reddened past more than vessels broken on impact;  
Something wondrous and inhuman   
Dead like some rare animal on the side of the road.

When they scrape him off the pavement  
They close his eyes,  
So that he may not gaze in horror  
Upon what happens to him after his death.

Mr. Stone holds a thrill close to his chest   
When they tell him the news—   
That their mysterious saboteur   
Was a marvel made in their own machines.

He orders a full dissection,  
An I.D. on the body, and their best men  
To learn, and make another.

He wants Miguel on this, he says,  
Won’t he be shocked to see his program had worked?

The coroner steps in, sucks a breath between their teeth, says,   
Well, Mr. Stone, he is already here,   
In only one or two pieces,  
Excepting all that blood   
That he left behind on the sidewalk.

And Stone stumbles on nothing   
Tries to take a full breath as he says _oh, yes, of course,  
_ Some sorry wheeze follows, a brittle _I see,  
_ And a _thank you,_ and a _good-bye, then,_

As he feels a grief he is unused to,  
Lamenting the son he had not raised, had not wanted,  
That he had daydreamed of claiming   
When the son by his wife had disappointed him so.

But perhaps what he had thought exaltation   
Was Miguel’s damnation, instead— 

He had thought he could keep his distance,  
Could act with the callousness of a stranger  
When his own eyes glared back at him.

Karma is not real to a billionaire  
But Stone believes in reactions,  
Of his own blinded nepotism, of thinking  
That Miguel would not try to wriggle his way free  
Of the corporate trap devised to keep him pinned down.

Conchata O’Hara receives a phone call the next day  
At two PM,   
From an impersonal voice that regrets to inform her  
That _there was an accident, ma’am,  
An explosion in the main building, ma’am,  
He was caught in the blast, _ they say,  
 _And we have sent the remains your way._

Conchata O’Hara receives a phone call the next day  
At two PM,  
And at seven, a visitor  
Far too familiar for her liking,  
A box of ashes in his hands that are not their son's.

He steps into her room, sets the box on the dresser  
With grief in his movements that she does not trust

She flicks ash from her cigarette disdainfully,  
Watches him shuffle forward and takes one last drag.  
She yanks him down by the tie before he can lie to her

Kisses him long and hard,  
Puts out her cigarette on his shoulder.

Smoke billows from his mouth as he screams  
And she laughs as meanly as she can bear to,  
Says lowly that at least it wasn’t Gabriel,  
That she’d have hurt him worse if he had killed her better child.

**Author's Note:**

> I banged this whole thing out in one evening after having One Very Intense Shower Thought and then running with it, so. Hope you enjoyed? I had fun writing it, if only because the idea of Spider-Man dying before actually becoming Spider-Man was an interesting concept to tackle.  
> comments and kudos feed your local author!
> 
> find me on tumblr @spider-man-2o99


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